


Six A.M. Walking Club

by monograph



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Crack, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Slice of Life, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 06:27:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23966875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monograph/pseuds/monograph
Summary: The boy was trying to start a club called the Six A.M. Walking Club. The activities of the club would be taking a walk at six o’ fucking clock in the morning, while discussing topics that the club founder – Han Jisung – would pick. Members would be paired with other members. The pairs would be rotated every time the club met. Later, as the club found its footing, members could pick topics. Minho wondered if the club and foot bit was intentional, and also whether this was a joke.xMinho wants to beat boredom. Jisung is harbouring secrets. The club brings them together,
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17





	Six A.M. Walking Club

**Author's Note:**

> Minho becomes acquainted with the Six A.M. Walking Club.

It started on a Saturday morning.

Minho cooked his breakfast in the pale morning light, a sense of satisfaction purring in his chest at the way his Friday night had ended. The walk of shame had been worth it, he thought, smiling. He remained observed in this line of thought for a few moments before his foe struck.

Boredom.

Minho plated his food, carried it to the tiny dining table, and drew a ketchup face on his fried eggs. He took a picture, and sent it to Seungmin with the caption stating ‘you.’ As he ate, he ruminated about how best to remedy this situation.

Seungmin had once told him that he was predictable in his unpredictability. Minho had puffed up, but Seungmin had told him that it still meant he was predictable, and to stop imitating a puffer fish. Minho had attacked him then because that boy needed to respect his elders.

Still, he had observed certain patterns in himself, and one of them was his inability to be caught inside a loop of routine for longer than six months. He had to try something new, and excel in that till the novelty wore out. The special dance class he was taking was winding up, and these days the classes were maudlin than specialised. No wonder, Minho was bored. He decided to keep an eye out for something new, sure in his belief that he would find something or the other. The university was a universe in itself after all, and novelty was guaranteed in the universe.

••

He forgot about his Saturday morning decision by Saturday afternoon. Hyunjin had turned up demanding breakfast, had demolished it, lazed around and then demanded lunch with Seungmin as his enthusiastic supporter. Free loaders, the lot of them.

Despite his boredom with his routine, he sank into it once again. His schedule was packed, a consequence of that being him and his friends revolving around each other without ever meeting, quite like the sun and the moon, if Minho wanted to be poetic. His friends were gremlins, however, so he was not going to insult any celestial bodies.

It was a snotty freshman who reminded him of what he had intended to do. He was manning the counter in the second-hand bookshop, when a blob of hoodie-jeans-existential crisis sidled up to his workstation.

“Yes?” he asked, lowering the mystery novel he was reading. He glanced at his glasses which were near his hand. He could read without his glasses comfortably and since this situation with Blob did not seem important enough for his glasses, he left them alone.

“There’s a dude messing with the notice board,” the blob said. Blob’s breath smelled of coffee, a sign that he was too close. He was nearly bent over the counter, and Minho wondered why only weirdos came to this fine establishment.

“Tell that to the person on the rounds,” he said.

“He’s looking for a book or something,” blob ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Listen it’s the weird kid from my class, and he’s like messing up the aesthetics of the notice board, so -”

Minho blinked. “The notice board has an aesthetic?”

“Yeah? It is supposed to reflect the chaos of a college student’s life caused due to disparate demands from multiple parties, and the consequent lack of agency over the information they can prioritise.” Minho got the feeling that blob was glaring at him.

He put on his glasses. Blob’s fuzzy edges and blurry centre mass came into focus. The freshman was indeed glaring at him. “What if,” Minho drawled, “the aesthetic of the board is that no one gives a shit, so stuff keeps piling up on it?”

“No. My senior told me that it was a work of art,” formerly-a-blob said, cocksure.

Interesting. IQ points seemed to reduce every passing year in the new millennium. “There’s a thing we seniors do,” said Minho, “it is called messing with the freshmen.”

Formerly-a-blob blinked. His ears reddened. Minho watched impassively, wondering what would happen next. Would he slink away or stay firm and make a bigger fool of himself?

“Just do your fucking job.”

Minho was disappointed. He had rather wanted some entertainment. He sighed, and went to check on the notice board. People wanting to put up notices had to get it vetted by the employees. Minho would have been fine with the aesthetic of the notice board being tampered with because at this point any tampering could only make it better. But, rules were being broken, and he wouldn’t stand by it because it was a very boring day, and he wanted something to happen.

If a fleeting thought of the culprit having escaped had passed his mind, it was for naught. The culprit was on his hands and knees trying to collect the flyers on the ground.

“This is a bloodbath,” Minho gasped. “What have you done!”

The boy looked up, his full cheeks a startling shade of red. He stammered, “I – I just touched it.”

“You’ve destroyed a work of art,” Minho said, shaking his head sadly. “It took years to produce it.”

The boy burst into tears. Well, he didn’t burst into violent sobs, but the tears slipped out of his eyes. He swiped at them with the back of his hand. Minho froze, staring in horror.

“I’m sorry,” the boy mumbled. “I’ll fix it.”

“Minho,” Chan said, appearing out of nowhere. “What the fuck.”

Chan took over the situation. Minho was asked to clear up the mess, and the boy was hustled away to the break room. He bent down to gather the circulars, some of which were so old that they were crumbling. His eyes fell on a brand new set of them which were obviously the boy’s. He read it, his eyebrows climbing higher and higher.

The boy was trying to start a club called the Six A.M. Walking Club. The activities of the club would be taking a walk at six o’ fucking clock in the morning, while discussing topics that the club founder – Han Jisung – would pick. Members would be paired with other members. The pairs would be rotated every time the club met. Later, as the club found its footing, members could pick topics. Minho wondered if the club and foot bit was intentional, and also whether this was a joke. Nevertheless, he took a photo of the poster.

He went to the break room carrying the boy – Jisung’s – fliers. Chan was handing Jisung a cup of tea, and glowered at Minho when he walked inside. Jisung was trying to melt into the pleather couch.

“I’m sorry,” Minho said. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. It was a bad attempt at a joke.”

Jisung sniffled. “It’s fine.” His puffy eyes, puffy cheeks combination tugged at Minho’s heart, and made Chan melt. “I had a bad day, and I just lost it.”

“Ah, plumbing issues,” Minho nodded, “it lets loose the waterworks in the best of us.”

“Minho, please don’t” Chan groaned. “He has a terrible sense of humour,” he said, turning to Jisung.

“I can tell.”

Ouch. “Here are your fliers,” he said, ignoring Chan’s shit eating grin. “Best of luck.”

Jisung snatched it out of his hands, and clutched it to his chest. “I should go. Thanks, Chan hyung and Minho hyung.” He bowed, waved and skedaddled with impressive speed.

“Didn’t you say that handling customer was your top skill when I interviewed you?” Chan asked.

Minho’s resume was two parts wishful thinking and one-part bragging. His interviews were all lies. He shrugged. “Can I have that tea?”

“No,” said Chan picking up the un-touched mug. “Go do your work.”

Minho heaved a great sigh, and went outside. Formerly-a-blob was standing in front of the new and improved notice board. He was radiating smugness.

“I told you it was a work of art,” he pointed at a tiny nameplate that was now visible since posters weren’t covering it.

“Huh.” Then he said the thing that made all artsy people forth at their mouths. “Even I can do this.”

He left formerly-a-blob spluttering, and once he reached his desk, he took off his glasses. Enough excitement for one day.

••

“How many times have I told you to not scare poor, unwitting strangers with your bizarre sense of humour?” Seungmin asked with a half amused, half disapproving look which meant Minho hadn’t fucked up that much.

Minho rolled onto his back and threw a hand across his face. “I didn’t expect him to react like _that_. He was a like a cat that had just realised that his humans suck after being blamed for knocking eggs off the counter when the human had been juggling with them.”

“That’s oddly specific,” Seungmin commented after a beat. “Is that based on a true story?”

“No,” said Minho, “Though I think that’s why Doongie plays so hard to get. She’s been betrayed before.”

Seungmin raised a brow, but did not say anything. Seungmin had obviously realised that the best way to wind Minho up was to give no reaction. So, he threw a pillow at him to keep him on his toes.

Seungmin sputtered and cursed. “I’m not going to help you if you keep annoying me,” Seungmin said, throwing the pillow back at Minho.

Minho caught it easily, and hugged it. “Who says I need your help?”

“You would never tell an embarrassing story about yourself willingly; you’re more of the making a fool of yourself in the present sort,” Seungmin said, taking off his glasses. He used a special spray and cloth to wipe his glasses. Minho calculated how he could snatch the bottle out of his hands and spray Seungmin’s face.

“Well?” Seungmin prodded, shoving the spray inside his pocket as if he had read Minho’s mind. Dammit, Seungmin knew him too well.

“I was thinking if I should take a look at Jisung’s club.”

“Are you saying that you’re going to wake up at 6 o’clock in the morning to talk to a bunch of strangers about,” Seungmin squinted, “love and human connection and shit?”

“I’m pretty sure it is a joke,” Minho said, shifting uneasily. It wasn’t like he was uncomfortable with deep, emotional conversations. He just preferred an advance warning or at least two days. But, he could do it on the spot if alcohol and weed were involved. “I’m definitely sure that it is a joke,” he said when Seungmin gave him a disbelieving look.

Seungmin got up, and picked up the stack of his clothes from the laundry that Minho had dumped on the ground on his way into the room. “Then why waste your time if you’re so sure it isn’t a joke?”

Minho considered his friend’s back. “I’m curious. And bored.”

Seungmin hummed. “As long as you don’t wake me up on your way out, go for it.”

He started sorting his clothes, but it wasn’t a sign for Minho to leave. So, he lounged, staring at the precise way Seungmin folded his clothes which spoke of his horrifying past in retail. The room was awash with a soft glow from the last light of the sun. Minho’s eyes were drooping with a sudden weight.

“I don’t understand how that boy things his club will work,” Seungmin said after a while. “He’s a college student himself, and yet he doesn’t understand how we work. 6’o clock, god,” he shook his head.

“Maybe he’s an alien,” Minho said, getting up and stretching. “Maybe he’s Maybelline.”

Seungmin flipped him off, and Minho laughed, ruffling his hair.

“You’re the alien, hyung.”

“The possibilities are endless,” Minho said gravely and left the room. Tomorrow should be interesting, he thought on his way out.

••

He regretted everything he said the next morning. He woke up at 5:30, brushed, washed his face made his protein shake, packed his gym bag, and rushed out. He didn’t know why he was rushing, except for a vague worry that Jisung would slip away if he was even a bit late.

He jogged to the entrance of the building that Jisung had mentioned. Dawn had not broken yet, and the lush greenery of the campus lengthened the shadows. A few students blearily stumbling about, but they didn’t disturb the comforting silence. The air smelled of wet grass and earth.

Outside the specified building, he saw a tiny figure sitting on the bench. He slowed down, and controlled his breathing with an exercise he had been using for a long time. By the time he approached Jisung, he wasn’t breathing as if he had jogged all the way here.

“Club member Lee Minho at your service,” he announced, and watched with amusement when Jisung jumped and flailed before clutching his chest.

“What!”

“Club member Lee Minho at your service” he repeated, before adding a “President Han.”

He waited patiently while Jisung blinked once, twice, and then launched himself off the seat. “What are you even – why are you!” Jisung stopped, breathed. “What the hell!” he demanded, cheeks flushing.

“I want to join your 6 A.M. Walking Club,” Minho said. “The first meeting is happening here is it not?”

“Yes, but-” Jisung scrubbed his face with a hand.

He was dressed for walking, Minho noticed. He had worn an oversized hoodie and track pants. He appeared slight and wan in the clothing which made him look younger than he probably was. Minho shoved his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and waited.

“I didn’t think anyone would turn up,” Jisung said, then pressed his lips together. “Is this a joke?”

Minho blinked. “Is this club a joke?”

Jisung glared at him, and his fists curled. “I asked you first! Are you playing a prank on me?”

“Are _you_ playing a prank on me?” asked Minho, trying to school his features into one of disinterest as he watched Jisung’s blood pressure increase visibly. This was almost as amusing as teasing his cats with a laser pointer.

“What are you doing here?” Jisung took a tiny step forward, seemed to think the better of it, and rocked back on his heels.

“You already asked me ‘what the hell?’ and I told you I want to join your club,” Minho said.

Jisung’s eyebrows rose, then fell, then furrowed. “Are you… is this – did you just come here to make fun of me for what happened yesterday?”

“No, I love walking,” Minho lied. He liked walking briskly from one place to another, and not leisure strolls. Still needs must. “And I was looking for something to do, so when I saw your poster, it was like serendipity. The fact that the club is run by you is just a coincidence.”

Jisung stared at him, probably trying to do that thing where people search for an answer to their question in the other person’s face. Minho knew that he wouldn’t find anything because his poker face was impeccable. Still, to give the boy something, Minho winked.

Jisung reared back, and blushed darkly. Minho turned away, and coughed into his sleeve to hide his laugh.

“Let’s wait for other people,” Jisung muttered.

No one turned up which should’ve confirmed Minho’s suspicion that this was an elaborate joke in progress. However, Jisung looked more and more crestfallen as time ticked by and he constantly checked his phone. Minho sat next to Jisung, and went through his workout for the day. He wondered if he would that hot literature student today. Probably not because he would be going early to the gym.

Jisung sighed beside him. “Well, out of the four people who contacted me, two of them are not coming, and the other two aren’t picking up,” he waved the phone at Minho. “Just as I thought,” he muttered.

“We were supposed to contact you?” Minho asked, his rather steamy train of thought about the hot literature student dissolving. Oh well, there was always time for that later.

Jisung gave him a disapproving glance. “It was mentioned in the poster.”

Jisung could not look intimidated if his life depended on him, Minho thought, taking in the wide eyes and soft cheeks. He gave him a sheepish smile and shrugged. “At least I’m here.”

“Yeah,” Jisung’s shoulders sagged. “What do you want to do? Maybe we should just leave,” he suggested, standing up. “This club looks like it is doomed.”

Minho stood up slowly, thinking. “We should inaugurate it,” he said. “The club seems important to you, so now that I am a member, I put up the posters and canvass for more members.”

Jisung’s mouth dropped in surprise. “You don’t have to do that,” he muttered. Shifting from foot to foot, he continued, “Why do you want to waste your time? As club leader is order that we adjourn for today.”

“You can’t order me around. I’m your hyung, and the club is a democracy.” He folded his arms, and looked down at Jisung. A small part of his brain demanded a reason for why he was being so adamant. He had no idea, but he rather suspected that he was being annoying on purpose.

“You’re so annoying!” Jisung snapped. “And the club is not a democracy. I didn’t mention that in the poster.”

“The general gist I got from the poster was that it was a democracy,” Minho countered, an odd thrill shooting down his spine. His cheeks ached with the effort to hold back a grin.

“Well the general gist of this conversation is that I’m done with you,” Jisung said. “I don’t know if this an elaborate prank or what, but I don’t believe for a second that you want to a part of this club. I don’t understand why it is so amusing for people like you to make fun of someone’s interest.” He stopped, his face a picture of hurt.

Like cold sludge, the realisation that he had pushed too far, blanketed Minho. He rubbed the back of his head, looked at Jisung who was heaving with anger. “I am not-”

Jisung held up a hand. “I’m leaving,” he said, and stomped away.

Minho stared at him, then sighed. He made his way to the gym slowly, lost in thought. Minho was an expert at needling people, but he usually knew when to stop. Today he had struck a nerve, and left Jisung hurt and fuming. He frowned. Jisung had been defensive from the start, but he had looked so hurt that Minho couldn’t help but wonder what his story was. Jisung had alluded to _people like him_ , and Minho doubted the existence of many other psychology and dance students who annoyed their friends, had three cats, worked in a shady bookstore and answered to the name of Minho. So it was probably a general characteristic, that Jisung had referred to.

He decided to stop ruminating over a failed social interaction. His younger self would’ve analysed it to death, but he focused on the scenery, and let the sounds of the morning wash over him.

••

**Minho to 01-----**

_Hello. This is Minho. I wanted to apologise for being pushy and trying to force you to inaugurate the club. I realise I was over-stepping boundaries, and it was not my intention to make you uncomfortable though that’s what I ended up doing. I am truly interested in the 6 A.M. Walking Club, and also curious about it. If you ever decide to inaugurate it, do let me know. Sorry again!_

“I think I sound robotic,” Minho said, squinting at his phone. He rotated Seungmin’s chair to face the bed, and read out the message to Seungmin and Hyunjin. Seungmin didn’t look up from his laptop, and Hyunjin continued to smother his face with a pillow while lying on the floor.

“Send him a meme,” Hyunjin suggested, lifting the pillow for a second. “Maybe in the panik-kalm-panik format.”

Minho scowled at him. “How would that even work?”

“I think you should write it this way: Minho hyung walking towards you – panik. He’s just here to join your club – kalm. _Minho_ hyung wants to join your _club_ – panik!” Seungmin said.

Hyunjin chortled, and squirmed towards Seungmin’s bed to high-five him. Minho couldn’t believe he called these idiots his friends. “I hate you both,” he informed them, but they were both immersed in whatever was playing on the laptop.

“It’s a cat video, do you want to see?” Seungmin asked.

Minho clicked send. “Scoot,” he said, and squished into Seungmin’s bed.

••

For the longest time, Minho had been certain that the second-hand bookstore was a front for illegal activities. There were a few reasons for this such as the shop only stocking weird books, staying afloat even though there were barely any sales, and the odd people who frequented it. Granted, over half the odd people were students – it was an arts and humanities college, eccentricity was the norm – but there were some trench-coat and suitcase type of odd people too.

Minho had hinted that this bookstore seemed to be the new mattress store, but Chan had just looked confused. When he had eventually cottoned into what Minho was referring to, he had laughed until he cried. Turned out he looked after the store for an uncle who was a collector and book restorer.

Who knew accusing someone of money laundering would lead to a great friendship. Minho hadn’t, but Chan was one of his closest friends now which is why he hid behind him when Jisung came to the store.

“I have no idea what’s going on,” Chan said, trying to squirm away from Minho’s back hug. “Someone needs to be out front,” he complained, when he Minho tightened his grip.

“No one will steal anything,” Minho said, staring at the closed door of the breakroom worried that Jisung would open it and peek inside.

Chan sighed. “I’ll go out, ok? You can cower here however for however long you want.”

Minho loosened his grip. Chan escaped, and turned to face him. “I’m not cowering! I’m just making sure that I don’t run into Jisung.”

“Jisung? The same Jisung whom you teased until he cried?” Chan raised a brow.

 _And annoyed him till he stormed away_. Chan didn’t need to know that. “I think it is better for all parties involved to not talk to each other.”

Chan stared at him for a second. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Lee Minho, you’re a chicken.”

Minho was many thing, but a chicken was not one of them. He darted towards Chan, but Chan was already running. He slammed out of the door, and Minho followed in hot pursuit, only to see Jisung walking towards him. He skidded to a stop

“Hey Jisung,” Chan said, jogging past Jisung, “I have to go, see ya.”

Minho scrambled for an excuse, but Jisung planted himself right in front of him. “I need to talk to you,” he said, shifting his weight from one foot to another. His eyes widened, “Um, about the club and stuff.”

The last time Jisung had talked to Minho had been last week. He had replied to Minho’s apology text after a whopping six hours. He had texted:

_It’s alright! I overreacted a bit too_

_I don’t know about the club_ _L_ _L_

_I’ll let you know_

Minho had replied with a succinct, “Ok.” which he had assumed would make it clear that the matter was closed. He had thought that an ‘ok’ with a period universally meant that a conversation was closed, never to be mentioned again. It was apparent that Jisung did not follow rules of the common populace.

“What about it?” he asked, clasping his hand behind his back. Farther away, formerly-a-blob was hovering near the front desk, and Minho sighed when he realised he would have to deal with him after he dealt with this conversation.

“A few people have agreed to come,” Jisung said. “To, um the inauguration? Since you seemed interested, I thought I should let you know.” His voice got quieter and quieter as he spoke.

Minho thought that a text would’ve been more efficient, but he kept quiet, because Jisung looked like still had something to say. An alarming flush was creeping across his cheeks, and he was working his mouth. Rather like a cow with cud. It was a little cute. A moment passed. Minho raised a brow to hurry things along.

“And I wanted to apologise for going off at you like that the other day,” Jisung said in a rush. He deflated after this explosion, shrinking into his oversized hoodie.

“It’s quite alright,” Minho said. “I wasn’t mad at all. And yes, I’ll come for the inaugural meeting of your club.”

“Our club,” Jisung mumbled, then his eyes widened and he backtracked. “That is of course if you-”

Minho cut him off before the poor boy erupted again. “Yes, our club. I’m still intent on joining, you know. You won’t be able to get rid of your first member that easily.”

“That’s – that’s great,” Jisung said, mouth crooked in a small smile. “I’ll go now. Channie hyung said he had a special book to show me.” He waved once and turned to leave.

Minho nodded, and watched him as he walked away. Then he squared his shoulders before dragging himself to where formerly-a-blob was waiting, ready to pounce on Minho with some pedantry or the other. Blob rounded on him the moment Minho was near earshot.

“There’s a stack of books blocking the way to aisle 3,” he said, pointing towards aisle 3. He looked like a scarecrow with his arm extended like that.

“I’ll have to ask my boss if I can move it,” Minho said, dropping into his chair. “He has a specific arrangement style, and I don’t want to ruin it.” He wished he had worn his glasses today, but alas, he had chosen contacts and could therefore see everything whether he wanted to or not. Staring at a person without being able to see a thing was such a power move; he would have to plan his glasses and contacts rotation properly.

Blob leaned forward, his ID card dangling right over the edge of Minho’s table. He was too close again, but the closeness enabled Minho to read his name. It was Yongtae.

“I saw Han Jisung annoying you,” Yongtae said, dropping his voice.

“We were having a conversation,” Minho said, prickling with irritation. He straightened a couple of pencils.

“Trust me, any conversation with him is an annoyance,” Yongtae insisted. “He’s in my class, and he’s trying to get people to join his dumb club...”

“I don’t know why I need to know all this,” Minho said, coldly. He was feeling protective though Jisung had shown himself to be more than capable of defending himself. Still, the hurt he had seen in Jisung’s eyes spurred the need to defend him against people who spoke behind his back.

Yongtae continued, oblivious to Minho iciness. “Imagine trying to form a walking club just because the 7 A.M. walking club booted him out. Like, splintering off the main group and forming factions is so passé. It is so _political_ ,” Yongtae rolled his eyes. “If something ever happens to me then I complain to the Dean and wait for the issue to be solved through proper channels. That is, the dean.”

Minho tried to remember the list of offenses that got one banned from the bookstore. He couldn’t remember if ‘being a dick’ was an offense. Then he recalled that it was, but only if books were at the receiving end of the dick-ishness. Heh. Receiving the dicks. Wait.

“7 A.M. Walking Club? There’s another walking club?”

“Yeah! It’s the best one on campus. Totally revolutionised morning walks. The 6 A.M. can’t obviously compare. Han is leading it after all, it’ll be a mess,” Yongtae said, sneering.

Minho stood up. “We don’t encourage bad mouthing paying customers in the premises,” he said, crossing his arms.

Yongtae blinked, taken aback. “Han is a paying customer?”

“Yes.” Jisung only paid visits to the bookstore, but Yongtae didn’t need to know that.

Yongtae didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue either. He lumbered away and Minho rolled his eyes at his retreating back. Dick. He settled back in his chair, ruminating over the new information. He hadn’t been aware of the existence of another walking club, and Jisung’s booting out from that club intrigued him. Minho leaned back and crossed his legs. His choice of a new activity had turned out to be exciting after all.

An hour or so later, Minho woke up from his light doze when Jisung and Chan emerged from wherever they had holed up, laughing. Jisung waved at Chan, and offered Minho a more subdued wave. Chan followed him till the desk.

“Do you know how weird ‘showing a special book’ sounds?” Minho asked Chan, after Jisung had disappeared through the door, the bell tinkling to mark his exit.

Chan looked affronted. “It really was a special book,” he protested.

Minho raised an unimpressed brow.

“It was a rare book of illustrations, and Jisung told me he’s taking fine drawing or whatever it is, so I thought I’ll show it to him,” Chan said.

“You’ve never shown me a special book,” Minho pouted.

Chan considered him for a moment with a twinkle in his eyes. “I can’t tell if you’re jealous because _I_ showed Jisung a special book, or because I showed _Jisung_ a special book.”

Minho’s ears burned. “I’m not jealous of anything!” he said. “It’s just that I want to see special books too, and you’ve never bothered to show me any before.” His voice was louder than he expected.

Chan covered his eyes with his hand. “I did show you a book, but you snatched it out of my hand and kept sniffing it.”

“That was a special book?” Minho asked, recalling a small green tome Chan had shown him once. “It smelled so nice,” he said wistfully.

“I can find more books for you to smell, since I still don’t believe you can read,” Chan said, laughing at Minho’s noisy protest. “Anyway, one of the customers, Yongtae or someone suggested that we should replace the notice board art since it is essentially destroyed. He also suggested that we should fine Jisung for destroying it.”

Minho groaned. “That man is a busybody,” he complained. “We should fine him for causing noise pollution and for making people regret existing in the same space as him.”

“Obviously I ignored the fine part, but I agree with replacing the painting. I thought we can take suggestions from the customers and put up a lot more artwork you know.”

“Ok,” Minho said, a bit wary because Chan was talking in his boss voice. “What do you want me do?”

“Find a box, decorate it, and display it on your table so that customers can put in their suggestions,” he said. “Decorate it well, it should catch the eye.”

An arts and craft project. Great. Minho nodded, however, and went in search for a box.

••

Jisung texted him the details of where the club was meeting, and Minho devotedly took himself and his gym gear to the venue. This time there were two other people waiting along with Jisung. They were a couple, since they were busy canoodling while Jisung’s eyebrows telegraphed fondness and irritation at them turn by turn.

“Hello, club leader,” Minho said, and waited as the couple detached themselves, and Jisung jumped. Honestly, that boy was so jumpy.

“Yeah, yes, hi,” Jisung said, tugging at his hoodie strings. He paused, seemingly at a loss about what happens after the greetings are done. “Welcome to the club?” he said, unsure.

The taller guy in the couple whooped. “I’m glad we’re finally doing this, Ji,” he said, his voice twanging with an unfamiliar accent.

“Are we? Can anyone be glad at 6 A.M. in the morning?” the shorter one commented, crowding into the taller one’s side.

“I can’t believe you’re whining even though I promised to do your laundry for a month,” Jisung said, then slapped a hand over his mouth, throwing a horrified glance at Minho.

Minho laughed, and he laughed harder when the shorter one muttered, “Way to look like a loser, Jisung.”

“I’m sorry,” he gasped once he had stopped laughing. “I didn’t mean to laugh.”

“It’s alright, Jisung is used to people laughing at him,” the shorter one said.

“Shut up, shut up,” Jisung hissed. He was so red that Minho wanted to touch his cheek to see if they were as hot as they looked.

“Anyway,” the taller one said, stepping forward, “I’m Felix, and this is Changbin hyung,” he pointed at the shorter one, “and that is our esteemed and articulate leader, Jisung,” he continued, sweeping a hand at where Jisung was standing.

“I’m Minho, and I am glad to have met you both under the auspices of our supreme and wise leader, Jisung.”

Jisung looked like he wanted to sink into the earth. “Now that we have all introduced ourselves-” he began with great dignity.

Minho interrupted him. “You haven’t introduced yourself,” he said, smiling broadly when Jisung gave him a look of betrayal.

“You all already know me!”

“I can’t believe our mighty leader has already created different sets of standards for himself and us,” Minho said, shaking his head with disappointment at Felix and Changbin.

“Oh for-” Jisung whined, before huffing in defeat, “Fine. My name is Jisung, and I founded this club.”

“That’s better,” Minho said, reaching out and patting Jisung’s head. His stomach flipped only because he hadn’t eaten yet, and not because Jisung leaned a bit into his touch.

Changbin cleared his throat. “So what do we do now, o efficient leader.” He waggled his brow when Minho looked at him.

Minho dropped his hand, ignoring Felix’s sly grin. His face felt a bit hot, but that was obviously due to the insinuations themselves, and not because those insinuations were true.

“We’ll pair up and – fine you both can be a pair,” Jisung said, exasperated when Felix and Changbin stepped towards each other the moment Jisung said ‘pair’. “And the topic for discussion is ‘Tea or coffee? And other random facts’ You can stick to this topic, or explore other topics since… well, some people already know everything about each other,” he glared at the offending couple who stuck their tongues out at him. “Once the walk is done, we can share our experiences.”

“Sounds gay,” Felix declared. “I’m in,” he said, and dragged Changbin away.

Minho looked at Jisung, who looked shocked. Minho guessed that Felix and Changbin were not supposed to have rushed off like that. Jisung turned towards Minho slowly, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“Hot bean juice over hot leaf juice, all day, every day,” Minho said, daring Jisung to contradict him.

Jisung floundered, mouth dropping open. He blinked, then gave Minho a rueful smile. “Can’t argue with that. You know, when I visited Vietnam…”

Jisung turned out to be a good conversationalist, and also craftier than Minho gave him credit for because he weaved through topics at such a speed that Minho was kept on his toes. He tried his best to drop flirty comments, but Jisung avoided them easily with determination, and the barest of blushes. But, it wasn’t fruitless because Minho learned that Jisung was a music major, that he liked art, that he had recently transferred to this university, he disliked horror in any form, so on and so forth.

The moment there was a lull, Minho pounced at the opportunity and asked, “Why did you start the club?” It wasn’t like he didn’t want to know more of the general stuff about Jisung, but he really, really wanted to know the answer for this specific question.

Jisung’s eyes widened, and he looked like he had swallowed his tongue. Minho slowed his pace, watching Jisung out of the corner of his eye.

Jisung wet his lips. “It’s a – a social experiment,” he said, eyes meeting Minho’s for a second before darting away. “I take social psychology.”

Minho knew for a fact that social psychology classes were not offered this semester. He played along, however. “Really? But aren’t you supposed to take an informed consent before involving people in an experiment?”

“Yeah – uh, that comes in later, once the club is set up and stuff,” he said, rubbing his neck. “So that there’s rapport and stuff.” His eyes were pleading.

Minho blinked at Jisung, considering what to say next. Before he could decide, Felix called out to them.

Jisung took the opportunity and jogged away. Minho followed sedately, every inch burning with curiosity. Why was Jisung being so evasive? Why had he cobbled together a walking club after being kicked out of a similar club? Was he kicked out or was Yongtae lying?

But, Minho had read the message in Jisung’s eyes loud and clear: drop it. So he would pack it away to a dusty corner of his mind.

_To be continued_

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how a simple idea about Minho and Jisung going for a walk mutated to this monster. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it! Please feel free to share your thoughts and comments!
> 
> Come say hi on [twitter](https://twitter.com/trip_the_zipp)!
> 
> [This](https://www.businessinsider.com/mattress-firm-conspiracy-grows-after-accounting-problems-2018-1?op=1) is why Minho was comparing the bookstore to mattress stores.


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